


The Angel Room - Vignettes from the Bunker: "Baby"

by CatherineinNB



Series: The Angel Room [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby, Baby is home, Bunker Fic, Canon Compliant, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s14e10 Nihilism, Fluff, Gen, Research, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Secret Entrance to the Garage, The Impala - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 11:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineinNB/pseuds/CatherineinNB
Summary: After depleting her grace, Makael's been invited to stay at the Bunker until she fully recovers. In the meantime, she's determined to find a way to keep Dean out of the Ma'lak Box.Author's Note: This takes place after "Nihilism," and before "Damaged Goods." I've decided to do a series of vignettes from around the Bunker as Makael recovers. Fun and fluff, but I'm also using it as an opportunity to address fandom stuff and meta from the series (see notes at bottom of the story). In this installment, Makael helps the Winchesters begin their research into ways of freeing Dean of Michael, and Dean is reunited with Baby.





	The Angel Room - Vignettes from the Bunker: "Baby"

**_Baby:_**  
Makael spends the rest of that first morning (which she realizes, almost a week later, was actually Christmas Day) deep in the Bunker’s archives with Sam, tracking down anything that might be useful in their search for ways to rid Dean of Michael. She and Sam periodically lug up stacks of books and file folders—and a couple of scrolls for good measure—to the main library, where Dean, Castiel, and Jack can look over them in detail.

Mid-morning, Sam calls a coffee break when he notices Makael yawning. “You know,” he says, as they stand next to the percolating machine, watching it slowly fill up the pot, “it’s okay if you need to sleep some more, to replenish your grace.” There’s some tightness around the corners of his eyes that she’s learning to recognize as a sign of his concern. Dean isn’t the only one who’s protective, and Makael finds herself warming internally at being the subject of Sam’s protective instincts.

She smiles and shakes her head, but hesitates before saying anything. She wonders if it will sound foolish, in this modern age. These days, humans don’t often understand the weight of such things. Then she wonders if it will sound foolish, coming from _her_ —the least experienced or capable of all their allies. Finally, she shrugs, and decides to be honest.

“I made a vow, Sam, to help your brother. To do everything in my power to help him. Currently I’m fairly limited in the power department, but … I’m good at research. And if your brother can be working on things with Michael pounding away in his skull, then I can work on things with low grace and a little fatigue.”

Sam looks at her intently as she speaks, listening silently. When she’s done, he nods, almost to himself. “Okay,” he says, finally. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to.

Of course Sam would understand a vow. Of _course_ he would.

She smiles at him again as they pour their coffee, and he waits while she adds cream and sugar to hers.

A few hours later, they’ve moved on from the main archives to a sub-archival room, where an overflow of books were kept after the Men of Letters ran out of room in the larger space. It’s been a good first sweep, and they’ve pulled the most promising-looking sources, but Makael’s sure that they’ll be able to find more during the next check of the main shelves.

She stands in front of a shelf in the smaller room, with Sam at her back, facing the opposing metal stacks. She breathes in the scents of old paper and mustiness and ink and leather, with little hints of shampoo and aftershave and gun oil from Sam. She decides in that moment that this particular combination of smells is her very favorite in the whole world, and then sighs when she realizes that her vessel’s affect is asserting itself again.

She focuses on scanning the titles.

“Uh, Sam?” she says, after a moment.

“Mm?” Sam’s voice is distracted as he runs his finger over the titles on the topmost shelf in front of him.

“Who came up with the filing system in this room? _The Prophetess Maria’s History of Archangels_ next to _Industrial Engineering and Chemistry_?” she asks, translating the former title from Latin.

Sam lets out an amused huff of air, turning to face her. “Uh, most of that shelving unit was Dean. He just shoves stuff in here that we’ve collected along the way. I keep meaning to organize it, but …” He shrugs.

“Too busy saving the world?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

He chuckles, ducking his head with self-deprecation.

By the time they’ve stacked up everything they’ve found in the smaller room and carried it upstairs, it’s well past lunch.

“Any luck?” asks Makael, as Castiel stands and stretches, his neck popping. Dean’s already in the kitchen, throwing together something to eat.

“There’s reference to a Sumerian text that may have some helpful information,” says Castiel, “but there are only a couple of very blurry photographs of the tablet, which is missing a few pieces, and apparently the original was destroyed during the bombing of Berlin during World War II.” His frustration is evident in his tone.

The two angels follow Jack and Sam into the kitchen as Castiel sighs and continues. “It may not be anything important, anyway. Angels and archangels were sometimes mistaken for Anzû by the Sumerians—as you know—but sometimes they actually _were_ Anzû, and without further context, it’s impossible to tell.”

Makael nods, then comes to a halt as something incredible assails her nostrils.

“What … is that?” she says, coming to a halt just inside the entrance to the kitchen.

Dean looks up from the cutting board, where he’s slicing up a loaf of bread. “ _That_ ,” he says, “is bacon, Em.”

Sam glances back and forth between Makael and Dean, his eyebrows raised. “Em?” he says.

“Yeah. Em,” says Dean, moving to pat dry some lettuce that he’s washed. “I figure if she’s gonna be hanging out with us, I need a shorter version of her name. You know, to shout if there’s danger. By the time I get out ‘Makael,’ it’d be too late. Dead.” He grins comedically. Makael tilts her head at him, and Sam sighs.

“It’s really not that long of a name, Dean,” says Castiel, frowning.

“You’re one to talk, Cas,” says Dean, shaking his head as he starts slicing up a tomato.

“When did a nickname happen?” asks Sam, curiously, still casting glances between the two of them as he grabs plates from the cupboard. Jack’s already distributing glasses on the table, and filling a pitcher with water.

“Uh …” Dean stumbles to a halt. “Hey, Jack, can you grab the mayo for me? I forgot it in the fridge.”

“I woke up in the middle of the night last night, and ran into him outside the bathroom,” says Makael. “We chatted.”

Surprise flickers over Dean’s face at her covering for him. “Yeah, nothing like insomnia-induced chats for coming up with nicknames. Thanks, Jack.” He takes the jar, grabs a butter knife, and starts spreading mayo over the bread.

The corners of Sam’s mouth turn down, but he nods as he puts the plates down on the island in front of Dean.

“All right,” says Dean, a moment later, presenting an assembled, sliced sandwich in front of Makael with a flourish, “this is what us humans call a BLT. Basically, it’s an excuse for eating bacon for lunch, in sandwich form, and it’s frigging delicious.” He whisks two more plates in front of Sam and Jack, then grabs one for himself, leaving an empty space in front of Castiel, who has already declared that he isn’t hungry.

Dean watches closely and with anticipation as Makael takes hold of half of the sandwich, carefully raising it to her mouth. She takes a bite, chews, and closes her eyes as the flavors hit her tongue.

Dean is grinning when she opens her eyes again. “You’re welcome,” he says, smugly. “And for my finale: tonight, I will introduce you to the joys of pizza,” he adds, with a conspiratorial smile.

“Pizza is _really_ good,” affirms Jack, which makes Makael smile.

It isn’t until they are cleaning up from lunch, and Dean mentions something about a road trip back to Kansas City to pick up Baby, that Makael realizes that he doesn’t know she’s parked out front. When she tells him, he’s out of the kitchen and practically sprinting up the stairs, before she’s even finished the sentence.

There’s a silence, and then Makael says, “I should probably go get the keys. They’re in my room.”

“Yeah,” says Sam, “probably a good idea.” He looks as if he’s working very hard at not laughing. Makael scowls at him.

By the time she makes it outside, Dean is minutely examining the paint job for any scuff marks or scratches, running hands over the shiny black and murmuring endearments to the car.

Even as insensible to human sexuality as Makael generally is, she feels a bit like she’s interrupting things.

“Keys?” he asks, when he finally notices her. She pulls them out of her pocket and hands them to him.

“I fixed the tape deck,” she says, tentatively.

He shoots her an inscrutable look before he unlocks the driver’s side, muttering something under his breath about people messing with his Baby. Once inside, he leans in and squints at the tape deck suspiciously. It takes knocking tentatively at the passenger side window to get his attention. He shoots her another look, this time laced with annoyance, and reaches across to unlock the door. She slides in.

“I got rid of all the blood,” she says, trying to help allay his concern.

It seems to have the opposite effect. His eyes widen, and he pales slightly, echoing “Blood?” in a thready voice.

“On the tape deck. I used a blood spell to fix it,” she explains. “But I cleaned it all up as soon as I was done.”

But he’s already scrutinizing the tape deck again, running his fingers lightly over the surfaces, peering at it from different angles. After a couple of seconds he nods.

“Okay. You _did_ get rid of all the blood,” he says.

She looks at him. “I’ve watched the show, Dean,” she says. “I know how you feel about this vehicle. I was very careful about getting her here.” She pauses, then adds, “I took a defensive driving class after I Fell,” hoping that maybe that will have more of an impact on him than it did on Castiel.

She gets a “Hmph,” in reply as he slides the key into the ignition and turns it on. The Impala growls to life, sounding absolutely glorious, and he lets out an exhale, tension starting to ease out of his long frame. He smiles. “Hiya, Baby,” he murmurs, patting the dash affectionately.

He takes a deep breath, braces himself, and then flips on the tape deck.

She has the odd feeling that he’s expecting it to explode.

Instead, the speakers come on at the low volume where Makael left them as she made her way down the access road.

_Got no time for spreadin' roots / The time has come to be gone / And though our health we drank a thousand times / It's time to ramble on …_

A wide smile spreads across Dean’s face. “Listening to Zeppelin, were you?”

Makael nods, solemnly. “I’d never really listened to it before, but it seemed … appropriate.”

“Whaddaya think?”

Makael smiles. “I like it. It’s fun to harmonize to. Plus, it’s very you.”

“Very me?” There’s confusion on his face now.

“Yes. Very … authentic. I like how unprocessed the recording style is. And how unrehearsed and fresh it feels. And they’re very loose with the rhythms and music—very free. That’s very … you.”

“Huh.” Dean’s expression shifts from confused, to thoughtful, to appreciative. Then a worried expression flits across his face. “Will it stay fixed? Or does the spell have a limited shelf life?”

“It’ll stay fixed. The spell is completed; it’s permanent. There was just a glitch in the electronics. Otherwise—” She’s about to go on, but realizes that Dean has stopped listening. He’s already adjusted the seat (after calling her legs “hobbit sized”). Now he focuses on the rearview and side mirror, rolling down the window to adjust it.  
He puts her into gear, then throws her a look. This time, it’s a bit sheepish.

“So, uh, thanks for getting her here in one piece. And fixing the tape deck.” He pauses, then adds, “And saving me a drive to Kansas City. Really don’t want to go back there any time soon.”

Makael smiles. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs.

Dean executes a flawless three-point-turn, and they start driving back down the access road, past the hulking, abandoned plant that used to harness the river’s power to generate electricity. It still does—it’s just that it’s only used for the Bunker, now. Makael takes a moment to appreciate the Men of Letters’ ingenuity, using a public works project to hide the construction and existence of their main base _and_ to generate free power in perpetuity. Then she frowns.

“Uh, where are we going?” she asks.

“Garage entrance,” says Dean.

Makael’s eyes widen. “Oh. _Oh!_ ” She leans forward in her seat, feeling her excitement rise.

“What?” says Dean.

“It’s just … I’ve never seen it before,” she breathes, as he turns the car to the left, onto a faint set of tire tracks that circle around behind the power plant.

“Seriously? We park in there all the time now,” says Dean. “I’d have thought that you would’ve seen it on the show.”

Makael shakes her head. “No. They’ve never shown you guys driving into the Bunker’s garage. Just interior shots. Probably so they can save some money on set design—and it’s not like it’s central to the plot, or anything.”

Dean shakes his head. “Still weird,” he mutters, as they skirt the building.

Behind it, they come back to the steep embankment, which had been cut into to accommodate the building of the plant. The embankment has been stabilized with large stones, which, by this point, are almost completely hidden by plantlife. However, one part is cleared: vertical concrete slab, set right into the embankment and framed with huge, squared granite stones. Makael looks at Dean in confusion as he pulls to a halt and gets out of the car, leaving the Impala idling. He grins, pulls out the Bunker key, and inserts it into a little metal square in the slab’s frame.

He turns the key, and the concrete _moves_ , the entire slab sliding sideways, making an entrance large enough for the Impala to drive through. There’s not even so much as a grating sound as it opens, just a soft hum from the hidden machinery operating it.  
Makael realizes that her jaw has dropped, and makes an effort to close her mouth as Dean slides back in and slams the door shut. “Pretty cool, huh?” he says, with satisfaction, as he puts the car in gear.

Makael nods vigorously. “It really _is_ like the Batcave,” she murmurs as they pull into a concrete tunnel, white-blue lights flickering to life ahead of them on the tunnel’s roof, guiding the way forward.

“Hey, look at you, all pop-culture savvy,” says Dean.

Makael feels a bubble of emotion in her chest at that. After a moment, she identifies it as pleasure. “I did work very hard after the Fall to learn the idiosyncrasies of American culture,” she murmurs. “And pop culture is very crucial to it all.”

Dean huffs a laugh as he negotiates a rather abrupt turn to the left, the Impala’s engine amplified and directed back at them by all the surrounding concrete, until it sounds like there are five of them making their way down the tunnel. Finally, the tunnel widens substantially. Dean executes another three-point-turn, and backs Baby into the Men of Letter’s garage. Makael’s seen it a dozen times on the show, but she still can’t contain the grin that breaks forth. Dean catches it, and returns it.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s so frigging cool.”

She watches as a second door closes in front of them, shutting them into the garage.  
Dean shuts off the engine, taps the steering wheel. “Good to have her home,” he says, sliding a look at Makael and giving a brief nod.

Makael beams.

**END SCENE.**

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes about details from this little vignette:
> 
> 1) The two books referenced in the scene in the sub-archive room are books that are shown in "Damaged Goods" when Dean is grabbing stuff to take with him to Donna's cabin: _Industrial Engineering and Chemistry_ and _Maria Prophetissima Historia Achengeli_ (which, if I've got my Latin correct, translates into _The Prophetess Maria's History of Archangels_ ). I literally paused the episode while watching and went, "Who the hell is responsible for the filing system there?" As a former grad student, who did a lot of research in various libraries, the juxtaposition of the two texts, side by side, made ZERO sense to me. When I Tweeted about it, I wasn't the only one who had noticed. So, it made it into this fic.
> 
> And of _course_ the person responsible for that kind of sloppy shelving would be Dean. :)
> 
> Additional note: I found out that the Prophetess Maria (also known as Mary or Maria the Jewess) was an actual person, an alchemist who lived sometime between the 1st and 3rd centuries AD. She apparently invented several kinds of chemical apparatuses, and is considered the "first true alchemist" of the Western world. Cool, huh? None of her writings survive: we only know about her because she is mentioned in the writings of a 4th century Gnostic writer named Zosimos of Panopolis. So, owning a book of her writing would have been a HUGE deal for the Men of Letters. 
> 
> Also, I seriously love that someone on the staff of Supernatural knew all of this and included it as a prop that was onscreen for probably all of two seconds. The attention to detail on this show continually astounds me.
> 
> 2) The Anzû that Castiel references was a godlike creature, sometimes described as a monster or demon, who was half-bird and half-man. His story is found in an ancient Sumerian tale called _The Epic of Anzû_ ; the oldest extant version was written in the second millennium BC (sometime between 2000 and 1001 BC). In this story, Anzû is a singular creature, but I like to think he might have been part of an ancient supernatural species that the Sumerians and Akkadians came into contact with. And, given the half-bird, half-man part, I could see them easily being confused with angels by the Sumerians and Akkadians.
> 
> Given that Anzû is characterized as an aggressor, it seems possible to me that, at some point in history, a Sumerian might have looked for ways to expel him--and thus, Castiel's hope that the tablet he has identified might have some promise, if the Anzû was actually a mistaken angel (who, as we know, can also be quite villainous).
> 
> 3) I've often thought about the entrance to the Bunker's garage: where it's located, how it's constructed, etc. The access road seems to end just past the main entrance to the Bunker (if I recall correctly, there are actually concrete barriers in the road to keep anyone from driving further). So it made sense to me that any entrance to the garage would be before that, and since the power plant seems to be stationed immediately to the right of the main Bunker entrance, it seems logical that the garage entrance would be somewhere before that, and that it would be similarly embedded in the embankment. 
> 
> When I was writing about it, I kept picturing the old Batman television show, where the Batmobile charges down the road and into the entrance to the Batcave, so of course I had to make a reference to that in the text (especially since Dean says, "Sammy, I think we found the Batcave" when they first walk into the Bunker in Season 8's "Everybody Hates Hitler").
> 
> All right. That's it. Hope you enjoyed the story, and if you liked having these kinds of notes at the end, let me know!


End file.
